


Love Therapy

by Raspberry_Omega



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Self-Indulgent, additional tags to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raspberry_Omega/pseuds/Raspberry_Omega
Summary: Fort Max doesn’t consciously register that he requires therapy. That is, until he has someone on his tail and finds himself unable to feel upset by that annoyance. Sometimes it is the presence of precious things that brings the realisation of their past absence, and the two emotionally underdeveloped big guys will both come to make up for lost time as things unfurl.





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Rating may change depending on where this is going.

'I don't understand why I need this,' it was the fourth time Fort Max repeated his doubt, as he lay on the slab in Rung's office.

'One doesn't have to consciously recognise the need for help when there actually is,' Rung kept typing away into his datapad as soft, soothing words flew out of his vocaliser. It was amazing how he could do both simultaneously without having to pause at any time or prioritise one above the other, but right at the moment the gentleness in his voice sounded to his patient almost offensively light-sparked and nonchalant.

'Use your time and energy elsewhere,' he groaned, 'you and Ratchet and the kid captain,' though he was well aware Rodimus was older than he was, 'try and save those pained by the here and now rather than attempt to get people to live with their past. The past does not haunt anyone. It lacks the power to do so. What truly haunt are the present and the future.'

Still, whatever your theories might be, most attempts for a patient to convince his therapist that he did not need help were futile. Not because he did not respect you enough to listen, but because he knew the part of your brain module in charge of issuing code to your vocaliser to commence articulation was merely a part of your mind. And he was aware when you were with him, in a session, self-conscious, and with your armour on, that part of your module was subject to the governance of even more complicated mechanisms.

The doorbell rang.

To provide a sense of comfort and confidentiality, Rung always had his patient locked in with him in the office during sessions, therefore at the moment the psychiatrist had to rise and open the door for whoever was outside.

Standing outside, as the door slid aside to reveal, was a mech as huge as Fort Max himself, as he caught a glimpse. The plating and amour were blue and violet, with unpainted stripes and finials having the natural silver-grey colour of the steel, and cold white bio-lights dotting the flanks and outer thighs. Retracted battle masks could be seen next to the anterior audial receptors, and the look on that face, Max frowned as he couldn’t help but read the visitor, bespoke a status of being lost, which was all too familiar, as he had been living something similar of his own.

The psychiatrist raised one brow ridge, and then glanced across the room to see his chronometer.

‘Oh I’m so sorry. We’ve run over time and into the following slot.’ Rung explained. It wouldn’t have been so if Max hadn’t been rejecting the opinion that he needed therapy the whole time.

The blue and violet bot had, apparently, booked the next session and was being pretty punctual. Somehow he had on an apologetic smile and avoided optic contact with either Max or Rung, although either of them could really fault anything upon him.

‘I’ll see you next time then,’ Max stood up, ready to leave.

‘Ah, actually…’ the new comer spoke up with a tone typical of someone unsure of themselves, ‘I…I’ve been hoping to meet you for quite some time, Fortress Maximus.’ He scratched the back of his helm, blushing.

This was the type of shy guy that bored you out with their introversion faster than Rodimus group-selected Magnus’ memos and marked them as read. Moreover, Max did not particularly like unexpected attention, so he simply nodded acknowledgement. ‘Glad to meet you. You would be?’

The other mech pulled his lip plates into a thin line as he paused for a few seconds as if preparing to articulate his own designation.

Rung always knew his acquaintances better than they did themselves, and provided a reply for the situation on the shy guy’s behalf, ‘this is Omega Retrosphere. He’s not all that good at introductions.’

‘What does he do as a member of the crew? Combatant?’ Max was even worse on such occasions – it was just that he hadn’t realised it yet, because he did not really care about the answers to whatever he was asking, and even the questions were devised according to his understanding of ‘what people usually asked in situations like this’.

‘I should guess so,’ Rung put on a smile as he attempted to moderate the awkwardness which Max certainly had not intended.

Retrosphere didn’t seem to be offended at all. All the while he was using his alternative optical sensors to scan Fort Max so that he did not appear to be rudely sizing him up and down, and his optics were locked with Max’s as he tried to push friendly signals through. It was just the kind of thing a bot with zero social skills would do when they desperately attempted to positively impress the other party, and it should’ve seemed creepy, but somehow it didn’t. Retrosphere was all authentic softness that it had become hard to disregard him.

‘It’s been nice meeting you then,’ Fort Max stretched out a servo, and the shy guy managed to meet him half way. Retrosphere’s silver-grey servo felt colder than expected, and Max was sure his own warmth had impressed him upon the touch.

He left Rung’s office, refuelled at the Energy Centre, and went back to his hab suite. At the moment, he occupied it alone, not only because of his massive size – no one would say it but he knew, they were afraid he would burst into a random rampage and tear their helms off at some point if they had chosen to be his suite mate.

He lay down in berth and picked up the datapad on the stand next to it, and read a few pages before drifting off.

During the recharge, though, a moment occurred when he felt he was yanked back into consciousness by a searing sensation that was even worse than pain washing through his frame. He tried issuing motion commands to his frame, but no part of it obeyed. He wasn’t able to react in that status, and was quickly taken over by fatigue and powered off again.

He was confused, and a bit unnerved, when he booted up to find himself on a slab again, the second time in one solar cycle.


	2. Skin Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omega Retrosphere rescues his hero after the latter is electrified during a power surge. While Maintenance deals with the potentially hazardous sections of the ship, Max has to be relocated to another Hab Suite.

The first thing he woke up to was cerulean blue optics and silver-grey battle masks. It took his processor some time to refer to the memory sections and return the results of the search – this bot seated next to the slab, apparently having been waiting for him to wake up, was that Omega Retrosphere who had only left an impression because of his excessive social inability.

The slab underneath felt slightly different from the one he had lain on earlier this cycle, and after a good survey around, he realised he was in the Med Bay.

Max attempted to sit up, and the bot next to him appeared as if gesturing him to stay down, while somehow inefficient in making his meaning clear. It was, anyway, not always such an easy thing to tell Retrosphere’s intention, and Max doubted even the clueless bot himself knew what he wanted most of the time.

He got better things to do than guessing what Retrosphere was onto, including, right at the moment, attending to the condition of his frame. He felt as if his backstrut was too weak to support his frame, and pressed a servo against the slab to push himself up. ‘Where’s Ratchet?’ He’d most urgently like to know what had happened, but the only bot in his company was apparently not one to provide professional opinions.

‘Don’t get up. You’re not allowed to leave right now,’ was Retrosphere’s reply. A moment later something seemed to occur to him, and he added, ‘the CMO is collaborating with Maintenance in filing a report assessing the hazard level of some of the peripheral sections that had been neglected due to technical difficulties. I think your Hab Suite is in the same zone.’

‘Okay. What exactly happened?’

The door to the Med Bay slid open. First Aid gingerly stepped in, carefully balancing three boxes of supplies as he made a bee line towards the storage shelves. Ratchet followed in right after him with a box under his arm and a datapad in his servo.

‘Fortress Maximus. How are you feeling right now?’ the CMO placed the box on the desk next to the slab and powered the datapad on.

‘For someone who finds himself on a circuit slab twice in one cycle, I’d say I feel pretty okay.’

‘Oh we’re sorry about that,’ Ratchet apologised unenthusiastically, optics focused on the datapad, ‘but we’ve got more concrete matters to settle, as you need to relocate to a safe suite.’ The datapad was handed over to Max. ‘Here’s a list of chambers facilitated to accommodate heavy weights like yourself.’

‘Can anyone please inform me of whatever that’s happened and led to this situation?’

‘Oh,’ Ratchet had on a slightly surprised look, ‘has Retroplex not told you?’

Retrosphere parted his lips as if about to speak up to correct him, but somehow thought otherwise in an instant.

‘No.’

Max quickly browsed through the list of options he had been offered. The first was Ultra Magnus’ suite. He was certainly not one of those pranksters whose thrill and dread sprouted around the idea of being caught by the Enforcer and put in the brig, but then he never had much appreciation for being judged during the withdrawal hours of each cycle either. The second was something newly converted from an energon depot. That in itself was fine, but the preview – something about the appearance of the suite’s interior evoked discomfort from his unconscious memory. It came from the sections that could not be indexed and he decided not to delve deeper. He moved on to the third and last option. It appeared to be a normal vacant suite and an easy choice.

‘There was a surge in what we’ve now termed H-08 section and according to the logs, some substantial voltage travelled the flooring, which is why you’re here. By the way, it was Retro- uh,’

‘Retrosphere,’ the blue and violet bot supplied, seeing as Ratchet was struggling with his memory.

‘Retrosphere,’ Ratchet repeated in confirmation, ‘who brought you here. He had been in Storage C16, going through the archives - ? And _heard_ the surge?’ The doctor was apparently citing someone’s earlier statement, his own doubts manifesting via the enquiring tone.

‘Y-yes,’ Retrosphere’s optics were fixed on the floor, as if between looking up straight at someone and speaking for himself, he could only manage one at a time, ‘I … heard it.’

‘C16,’ Max raised one brow ridge, ‘that’s like… a mile away from my suite.’

‘And also a mile away from the closest spot within H-08,’ Ratchet added.

Retrosphere was visibly blushing. ‘Yes.’

‘What does an electric surge a mile away sound like?’ Ratchet was amused and couldn’t help but letting the corner of his mouth lift up in a curve.

He didn’t expect it to get Retrosphere into some serious contemplation, but the latter appeared to be painstakingly trying to form a proper descriptive sentence.

‘It sounds like…’ Retrosphere stretched out one servo, held it up to chassis level, and gestured by slowly closing the digits to form a fist, ‘the static from that direction is suddenly unusually quiet.’

Max had to admit that he was impressed. He didn’t usually care for those who claim to possess special abilities while they are obviously not genuine outliers - at least he didn’t care enough to hear their stories out, but the way Retrosphere described the sound he heard, and the expression on his face… Max should say he was almost touched.

Not a sound, but the absence of sound. A mech who heard silence as much as he heard sound.

Ratchet simply nodded, and took hold of the datapad as Max returned it to him.

‘And you’ve made your choice?’

‘Yes, the third – the unoccupied one.’

The doctor frowned. ‘I don’t think there’s an unoccupied one.’ Going through the list himself, he then realised, ‘oh, Registration has yet to update this, I guess. It was a week ago, before Retrosphere came on board, and now he’s settled in in it. As is the same with the other suites, it was built for two. We already have Retrosphere’s consent, if you’d like to relocate there.’

The awkward thing was, because the shy guy was present, it’d almost seem rude to say no to that offer. Then again, between having Ultra Magnus as a suite mate and the second that was not an option, Max reckoned a bit tolerance for Retrosphere’s interpersonal ineptness seemed quite affordable.

Maintenance cleared out Max’s suite, placed everything on a cart and had it guided to Retrosphere’s suite by droids. Max was weighed down by fatigue and was happy to hit the berth without sorting his stuff out first. Strangely, one moment before he fell into proper recharge, he thought he spotted the blue and violet silhouette in his blurry vision, gently popping into his chamber to check on him. He didn’t particularly like the colour scheme, but there was something in the shy guy’s EM field that was soothing during night time, and the presence of another, which would normally appear a bit upsetting when he was trying to rest or relax, astonishingly worked towards the exact opposite. So with something of a suspicion that he had a silly smile going on, he smoothly powered down within a second.


End file.
